


We're the Therapists Pumping Through your Speakers

by eatinggingersouls



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Romantic Fluff, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatinggingersouls/pseuds/eatinggingersouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, when Joe jokingly told Patrick that he would "gladly fuck any guy under 5'7," Pete took that sentiment to heart for the cutie behind the counter at the little music shop of the mall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is really short, I apologize. However, the chapters will get longer and longer, hopefully. You'll just have to deal with a good amount of shorter ones near the beginning.

Patrick looked at the record placed in front of him. "Arma Angelus?" He glanced quickly over to a coworker. He would definitely get berated if he didn't speak good. "Nice choice. I've listened to their album-"

"You've listened to every record here," That coworker said. He was right.

"Yeah, but, it's a pretty alright album, if a little sloppy. Drummer's pretty good. And lead guitarist."

"Hell yeah."

The customer only nodded, before saying, "Yeah, I should know. I'm the vocalist."

"Wait- Joe, you know this guy?"

"Yeah, Pete's cool." Joe turned to the customer, who was apparently buying his own album. Patrick wouldn't put it past Joe to do something like that, but, the vocalist? He seemed like a pretty even kind of guy, not so self-righteous.

"So. That'll be, uh, $23.57, man." Patrick said, still a bit thrown off. Pete fiddled with his wallet, placing a 20 and a 5 on the counter.

"Keep the change."

And with that, the guy walked out with the vinyl, leaving Patrick to sit there and react with a fairly amused Joe in the background.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn it, Joe. Damn it, Andy.

It was only a week later, same day of the week as before, that was not enough time. Not enough at all. Patrick was in the back room, organizing some equipment that would be going up sometime soon. Well, he was, before Andy walked in and said something quietly. Damn it, why did Andy have to be a quieter shy person than him?

"What?"

"Someone's looking for you, Pat."

 _"_ _My_ _name's_ _not_ _Pat_ _!"_   His whine was apparently louder than he meant, because as he was walking to the counter, just who he didn't expect stood there, looking like he was trying really hard to stifle laughter.

You wouldn't blame Patrick for blushing in embarrassment, but you could blame Pete for blushing at Patrick when he noticed the shorter man's blush. _How_ _cute_ , Patrick guessed he was thinking. Fucking taller people.

"So." Patrick said, trying really hard to brush that off. More like blush it off, sadly.

"Why d'you guys have so many damn left-handed basses?"

"I don't know, man. What you wanna buy one?"

"Yeah, not a left-handed bass."

"I have some in the back room. But, like, I though we only had a few left-handed's out?"

"I like one of the designs that I couldn't find on any normal ones."

Joe, who happened to be in the back room, came out with a bass, after most likely hearing the exchange. Actually, he definitely heard it, seeing as he was laughing softly. Fucking taller people, always having the upper hand. Literally.

"Thought I might as well save you the trouble, Patty Cakes."

" _My_ _name_ _is_ _..._ you know what, just..." Patrick flipped him off, Joe laughing a bit harder. What, he was only being himself. "Fuck you."

Joe cut off his laughter, going for: "I'd gladly fuck anyone under 5'7."

It really wasn't his fault he was the blush-y type of person.

"Deal with him, please?"

"Yeah, I already grabbed what I know he wants." Patrick heard Joe as he walked back into the backroom.

Joe and Andy must have been in on something, because Andy was stifling laughter with a tattooed hand, drumming idly on the counter a few yards away. "So, like Pete?"

 

"Fuck off."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete really needs to understand that he lives in Chicago, not Seattle.

A third week in a row? This was starting to get tiring. This time, he was at the counter with Andy, who was teasing him about the glasses that he had for three days already, shut up!

"Four eyes." Andy had said.

"Hell yeah you are."

"Same with you, man, you can't si-"

"Oh Patty Cakes!"

Jesus motherfucking Christ, Pete was starting to become annoying. But, based on Andy's surprised look, this one wasn't planned out.

"It's Patrick." He growled through clenched teeth, shooting a lethal glare at both Andy and Pete. Pete laughed it off.

"Yeah, whatever, Ricky. Look, I heard Brendon and Ryan-"

"Wait, you know them?"

"Dude, this shop isn't the only place I've gone to. Besides, like, two flamboyant gays at a hot topic ripoff almost as tiny and cute as you almost making out at the cash register isn't something someone popular wouldn't know."

"You. Out of all people who would know those jackasses."

"Yes. Me. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III. Knows Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie, of which will probably have one of the most chaotic breakups ever."

"But... aren't they not dating?"

"Trust me, no matter how much Ry-Ro denies it, he and Brendon are completely and utterly gay for each other, and they are dating."

"Hey Patrick, who you tryin' to impress?" Joe's voice kinda very surprised him, pulling him out of the stance he had taken.

That stance happened to be a bit... sexual. If you thought of it right. He was leaning on the counter, supporting his head with his hands, feet a few, well, feet from the bottom of the counter, crossed so that only one was where he put his weight.

If he was a hot girl, it would be very sexy, is basically what Joe meant. Probably.

"Nah." Patrick replied, pushing his glasses up his nose with a middle finger and going into a more casual way of leaning on the counter. If only that reply made sense, because Joe almost burst out laughing. Almost. Even Andy was close, and he had almost completely left the area to go and pick up the pair of drumsticks he always had on the counter that Patrick had practically fought over before another pair was grabbed to play with.

The shortie turned back to Pete, covering a cheek with a hand to make it seem less like he was blushing at all. "So, does that mean you know Mikey and Gerard Way, and, like, Ray and Frank? Their band is pretty sweet."

"Oh, yeah. They're probably gonna get far, they're cool."

"Um. Prince, Michael Jackson?"

"What about them?"

"Do you like their music?"

"Trick, you flirting with him?" That was Andy. Definitely.

"Trick. That is the cutest nickname. Trick, Trick, Trick."

"Andy!" He whined through clenched teeth. Damn it, tall people always had power over him.

"So, man, wanna go over to a Starbucks sometime?"

"This is Chicago, not Seattle, dumbass."

"West coast is cool, man, what's your problem with 'em?"

"'Wanna go for a Starbucks?' Like I'm some fucking hipster."

"They're good!"

"Whatever, man."

"8 Am, Saturday, if you're up. The one G and M go to a lot, on the other side of the mall."

Patrick sighed. "9, instead?"

"Oh, sure, man!" And with that, Pete left, not even bothering to pretend to look interested in anything except for Patrick there.

Patrick looked to Andy once Pete deserted the place. "Shit, man, help?"

"Talk to Mikey about it, I heard he dated Pete at one point."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this one was going to be posted tomorrow since i already posted the first two chapters but i got excited and i wanted to post this


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the help, Mikey.

Patrick was drumming idly on his thighs, having come a few minutes early to take Andy's advice. The conversation went something like this:

"Hey Mikey, can you help me with a thing?"

"Sure man, I guess. What'cha need?"

"Uh... Pete-"

"Don't break up with him, dump him if he's not your type. You are going to date him, I can tell."

"Wh-what?"

"If he wants to date someone, they are damn well going to be dated."

"Shit. But, like, I'm straight, so?"

"Tough luck, dude. He can make the most hardcore dudebros, no homo and all, gay for him. It's a thing he's good at."

"Shit."

And, just a few minutes later, and a bit of talking with the brothers, Pete walked in, fashion worse than he remembered. Or, well, when did he even look, in the first place? He was wearing a t-shirt that would probably be one giant hole in about a month, jeans that would probably be one giant hole in about two months, and ugly-as-shit fur boots. And sunglasses, inside, which made no sense.

At least Patrick was normal, wearing a hoodie, jeans, a baseball cap, and a slightly worn out pair of sneakers.

"Since when did people wear hoodies during summer?"

"Since fuck you, when did people wear fur boots ever?"

The two got into the (all too long) line, Patrick occasionally glancing over for approval from Mikey. "So, I heard from Andy that you fucked Mikey Way, or something?"

"Fuck is such a strong word for that sort of thing. We dated, yeah, few months, before the fucker dumped me. Why're you asking?"

"Mm. Cool. Just was wondering, since Andy said the thing."

Shit, now he had to be careful when seeing if he wasn't completely fucking up. He stole another glance to Mikey, who, in a very fake-looking conversation with Gerard, shook his head slightly and looked over to Patrick. He got the idea, he fucked that up.

Ah, the cash register. Thank god. A very makeup covered barista asked the two what they would like, to which Pete replied with what seemed like a long list of overly complicated pumps, for something. A frappe, he was pretty sure. Patrick, on the other hand, just said, "Large cinnamon dolce latte, please. Er, grande."

So, seemed like the drummer's... friend... would pay, a nice 8-something dollars out of his pocket.

"You sound like such a white girl, with your 'four pumps classic' and shit."

"Trust me, Trick, you could only get more white girl if they had pumpkin spice lattes around during summer."

"They're actually pretty alright, for Starbucks, though."

"Eh. Bad opinion, but okay."

The finally got their drinks and sat down near the Way brothers, to chat over coffee. Or something.

"So. Latte during summer. White girl latte during summer. Nice."

"Shut up, man, that frappe is one of the silliest things I've ever heard out of someone's mouth."

"Fuck you, mister Patrick Martin Stumph." That last name was definitely intentionally mispronounced, there was not way it couldn't have been.

"So, like the Troh-Bro, I'm guessing?"

"Oh, hell yeah. Only Joe would give me your address."

"Wait, Joe did what?" Patrick stole another glance at Mikey, who gave him a quick shrug and mouthed something like "He does that." Alright, that just meant he had to go and tell Joe to never just give anyone his address that he doesn't even know.

"Patty, you shooting googly eyes at my ex, the fucking cheat?"

Shit. There goes relationship advice. Patrick sat up from the slouch that definitely developed, shifting his faze to Pete. Shit, shit, fuck.

"No." He was shooting eyes at the Way, but not googly eyes or some shit.

"Thank god. So, I heard you're pretty good at drums, and, well, Arma has been needing a drummer for a few concerts, since our old one fucking left us."

"How about Andy? He's fucking amazing at it, trust me."

"How about you?"

He would have to do it, wouldn't he? Pete definitely looked ready to puppy dog eyes Hus way into getting him to do it, but it was cool, he supposed.

"...Sure."

"See you at Joe's place, tomorrow, around noon, to teach you the part."

"Cool, 'kay. Joe knows this is happening, right?"

"I'm not stupid, dude. Of course."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That hug was really, really warm.

"How fucking dare you just go and give him my fucking address, I don't want a shitty-ass stalker on my ass at all times!"

"Dude, he would've gotten it out of you somehow. I just sped up the process."

"It was a shitty idea, and you know it!"

"Whatever, Patty."

"It's Patrick!"

"Seriously, man, what's your problem with nicknames?"

"Hey guys! Joe you have the drum set out, right?" And there was Pete. Patrick quickly composed himself, while Joe answered.

"Yeah. Pat's got the drumsticks, too."

"It's Pa-"

"Great! Alright, Trick, go and sit at 'em, give a beat, I wanna see _how_ good you are."

He sighed, sitting at the set and readying himself, taking off his glasses and shoving them carefully in a pocket. Then, he played something, definitely not his best.

"Oh my god, he plays like an excited puppy, it's fucking adorable!"

"I told you, man, he's pretty alright at drumming."

"No, like, this is important! I gotta tell Chris and Adam that he's doing it!"

"We'd have to get them to hear him too, though."

"I guess. He's still doing it."

Pete looked genuinely excited, smiling like a doofus and clapping slightly. Joe, on the other hand, probably knew how much better Patrick could play.

"So, I'm in, I guess?" The drummer said, wiping off his of any smudges and placing them back, carefully, on his nosebridge.

"Yeah, man!"

"Pete'd probably kill a man to keep you in, Patty."

"My name's not-"

"Do you even have a nickname? I have to think of one."

"Don't you fucking dare."

"Lunchbox it is, that sounds nice!"

"What the _fuck_?"

"Yeah, that's a little fucked up." Thank god Joe could help out when needed, even if all he said in the conversation was a single sentence.

"Lunchbox is perfectly fine for this little fucker!"

"No?"

"C'mon, Lunchbox, at least it isn't boring!"

"Fine, whatever."

Pete looked almost prideful that he got his way. Like, wow, you aren't that amazing.

Patrick himself didn't really care. That asshole could get away with anything, fuck him.

Joe and Pete retreated to the shitty thing that Joe called a couch, Patrick deciding that the drums were close enough that he could lay the drumsticks on one of the drums and turn to face the two.

"So, Ricky, can you play guitar?"

"Oh, yeah, a bit. Joe actually kinda gave me a little practice."

" _Thank_ _you_ , Joe. Can you sing?"

"I- I don't really. I mean, I guess I _could_ , but-"

"Basket Case. Green Day. Now."

"But what about inst-"

"A Capella this bitch."

"Alright?"

Lucky for Pete, Patrick had spent hours upon hours to memorize every little thing about the song, especially the few days after it came out. So, he started, careful to stay true to the song but still put his own twist on it.

Obviously, Pete was impressed. And Joe. Which was more important to him, he wasn't quite sure. Joe, probably, considering how he could barely get surprised over anything.

"So..."

"So? You fucking nailed it, man! That was my shit!" Pete stood up quickly, lifting Patrick out of his seat and pulling him into a hug. It actually surprised him a bit, but he managed to find his wits enough to hug back.

He wasn't let go until Joe said something along the lines of "Sorry, Pete. No extra room for you to spoon him in."

"Fuck you, he's completely fine. Right, Stumpy?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

God damn, that was one of the warmest hugs he had in a while.

But, even then, he usually wasn't _this_ blushy.

"So, anyway, let's get you working on that drum line."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only Patrick knew 'B-Den' and 'Ry-Ro' better.

"Dude, dude, Lunchbox! Man, I just got the _greatest_ idea for a song!"

"This is a fucking music store, not my house."

 Pete had almost ran in this time, it was absolutely hilarious. It had been a few weeks since he had last been in the shop, though it (almost luckily) seemed like forever.

 "Yeah, so? This place isn't the most populated, your opinion on it doesn't mean shit!"

 "Dude..."

"Okay, sorry, sorry. But, like, when's your shift off?" 

He was going to start picking Patrick up after he was done with his job, wouldn't he? Holy shit. No thanks...? "5."

"Cool, see you then, then!" He ran back out. 

Andy couldn't even hold back laughter that time.

"What?"

"It's fucking hilarious!"

"I'm not 'fucking hilarious!'"

"No, you're relationship with Pete."

"We _aren't_ _dating, don't_ _you_ _dare!_ "

"Well, apologies, your majesty."

"Shut up."

"I bet he wants to start a band!" That was Joe, of which called from the back room.

"Really?"

"You heard how enthusiastic he was about your voice, Patrick!"

"I guess."

Thank god those few hours until 5 were quick. Or, not, maybe? Pete came in around 10 minutes before the end of his shift, but, oh well. It was practically over, and his boss was surprisingly lenient about it. Patrick was actually in the back room when he walked in, but he knew it was him by the sing song voice of an "Oh, Ricky!"

This was either going to go horribly or great. Probably the former. Patrick walked out of the room to the counter, leaning on it a bit. "Hey, man."

"Okay, okay, okay, so, I got this _great_ idea for a song, so I wrote it, and, just, look!" Pete shoved a notebook in Patrick's face, instinctively flinching back.

Getting his eyes to focus on the terrible handwriting that Pete must have possessed, he quickly read the lyrics.

"What're you calling it?"

"Calm Before the Storm. Like it?"

"How fast or slow would it be?"

"Very punk-y. Like, like Green Day, kinda. Not really, actually."

"That wasn't a legitimate answer!"

"Kinda fast, very musical."

"All music is fucking musical."

"Try singing a little, for me?"

Patrick rolled his eyes overdramatically, settling on doing what he was sure was the chorus and choosing some way to sing it.

Apparently Pete liked it, because he had that goofy smile that he had when he sang Basket Case. "Was it good?"

"Not at all what I imagined, but better."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Now, c'mon, we have a whole mall and until it closes to walk around! B-Den's and Ry-Ro's place first?"

"What's it even called, anyway?"

"No clue." Pete chuckled as Patrick walked out of the store with him.

"Something to do with the hottest of topics, probably."

"Nah. Sexy subjects, more like. It's definitely a ripoff, at least."

"Recognizable, as some sort of 'we aren't even trying that hard to not look like what we're ripping off' kind of place."

"Hell yeah."

Their banter continued until they got there, and Patrick realized Pete wasn't kidding when he said that they looked like they were about to make out with each other any second. Even if Brendon was at the counter and Ryan was a walk around looking to help out people person, they were usually surprisingly close to each other. Probably Ry-Ro's fault.

"Hey Ry, hey B!" Pete said in a more high pitched voice than usual, getting on his tiptoes and kissing Ryan's cheek. No wonder Mikey dumped him, he was completely sexual- or, at least, romantic -with everyone. Silently wondering how he would react to a girl, like Hayley, Patrick gave a quick, quiet greeting, feeling very much like he looked like he was dragged along. Can't compete with actual, literal side-bangs that actually covered part of one of his eyes.

"Hey, dude! Got a new boyfriend?"

Patrick was completely happy Pete gave a shrug. Then he noticed the Cheshire Cat-like smile on his face. "I guess I do."

If Patrick knew either of them better, he would have looked to one to help him out. But, they already seemed infatuated enough on each other's images. So, he had to defend himself, before disappearing into the void of listening, not talking. "No he doesn't."

"You dating B-D yet?"

"We'd never fucking date, what're you getting at?"

"I'm not the only straight guy that can also be gay."

"I believe that's called bisexual!" Brendon hollered, managing to do that pose that Patrick had accidently done a good few weeks prior, only he managed to pull it off. He was interested in the situation, but that seemed like it was all he said.

"Who the fuck cares what it's called, that's what I am."

"Dude, why'd you even categorize me as straight, anyways?"

"You've only dated girls, including B-Den over there."

"Okay, yeah, I am straight as a ruler."

"One of those bendy rulers, hopefully."

"Fuck you, Pete Wentz."

"Gladly, to you, too."

Patrick was completely bored of the situation, considering he hadn't contributed at all. So, he inched over to Brendon.

"They usually like that?"

"Pete brings sexual tension everywhere, yeah."

"Is Ryan that fucking boring, usually?"

"Ry isn't boring!"

"Whatever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit, im almost out of prewritten chapters  
> the next chapter is going to be considerably shorter, just a heads up


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, there goes subtlety.

"Man, Cookie Jar, that was a fucking amazing concert last night!"

Did... did Pete just give him another nickname? Alright. Fine. Thank god it was already the end of his shift.

"Yeah, it was pretty sweet."

The concert was a huge blur for him, a rush like the adrenaline that filled him that night. Probably the part that stood out the most was when they were just finished with the second song, and Pete paused, went up to a microphone, and said something like: "You guys are great, but, you know who else is? Our drummer for this concert, Patrick Stump!" Which got a good amount of applause. And then Pete went and unabashedly placed a kiss on his cheek. The crowd legitimately went wild. Needlessly said, Patrick's face was a lot redder than usual or the rest of the concert.

Hell, his face was probably still a bit flushed.

"So, Pete, any new song ideas?"

"Oh, yeah. You know Chris, right?"

"Course."

"Okay, look at these."

Pete pulled out a small notebook from a pocket like before, and Patrick quickly read the lyrics. He seemed to have figured out what musical notes are, because  it seemed he spaced things out to write what note would be used for various words. Or, like, a question mark instead of a letter, or multiple letters above a word. Oh, and he wrote the title.

"Grenade Jumper? Why name it that?"

"Because, like, that one saying that's something like 'I would jump on a grenade for you' seemed to fit pretty well, in my opinion."

"Huh. Cool."

"So, can you sing it a little, please?"

"Are you writing these just to listen to me?"

"Maybe."

Maybe's always meant yes, as a rule. The two had wandered out of the music shop at that point, and had found their way into a random chain store, though it didn't seem that populated where they were.

Patrick decided on his answer to Pete's question. "Alright."

Singing it just how Pete wanted certainly gave a good reaction. As in, once he was done, Pete gave him a ridiculous grin and picked him up into a hug.

It wasn't his fault he had to squirm out of Pete picking him up. No one likes it, especially when surprised.

"You know, you're fucking adorable."

That wasn't something you could just say "thanks" too, or something. God damn it, Pete, he couldn't reply to that. So, Patrick unintentionally did just that, reply.

Who knew a blushy, shy smile worked wonders around Pete.

And Pete definitely took that chance to continue complimenting him.

"Adorable, and talented, and great, and amazing."

"Thanks, Pete."

"Course." Pete bent down, and, surprisingly gingerly, planted a quick kiss on Patrick's cheek, the one that hadn't been kissed the day before.

Was it just him, or did the concert kill Pete's idea of being subtle with things?

The bassist linked arms with the singer, and they continued talking.

"So, I think we should start a band." Pete said.

"With who?"

"Oh, like, Joe on guitar, Andy on drums, me on bass, and you doing, like, guitar and singing?"

"I'm down for it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He really did need to get Joe to shut up.

He wasn't even at work this time, he was at his apartment.

God damn it, Joe.

The second Patrick heard a knock at the door, he squinted slightly in confusion. He wasn't expecting anyone. Well, that narrowed it down a bit. He was 96% sure it was Pete.

"Patrick open your fucking door, wow."

He was 178% sure it was Pete.

"There, I unlocked it, douche."

"That's _your_ douche, excuse you." He didn't even open the door after he unlocked it. Wow, ungrateful to his hard work.

Patrick paused before opening it, just feeling like he might as well leave Pete hanging a little. It was funny in his head.

A forehead kiss was the first thing Patrick got when he opened the door. And a little blush due to it.

"Why are you even here?"

"I... might need a place to stay for a while because guess who accidently spent their money on clothes instead of rent."

"Did you ask Joe or Andy about it?"

"Yeah."

That was a lie Patrick really didn't care about.

"Fine, man. Don't have an extra room for you, or anything, though."

"Oh, that'll be fine, Patty Cakes!"

"So, I expect you have a guitar or something with you?"

"No, actually. Joe's place is, like, where every instrument I own is. Or a few basses."

"Wow."

"Indeed."

Patrick's apartment was a bit messy, mostly just with everything's locations being suited to fit his habits. An acoustic guitar laying in a spot perfect for him to just pick up as he was walking down the hallway to a few other rooms, for example.

The two retreated to a couch in front of the only TV in the apartment, Patrick picking up a magazine on the coffee table and flipping through it.

"So, why do you even know the fact that I don't work today?"

"Joe."

Patrick groaned a response, which was apparently translated in Pete's mind as 'I want to be cuddled.'

A well placed, tattooed arm pulled the two closer together, along with blond hair being ruffled and a kiss being planted. Jesus Christ, Pete was so overly affectionate.

"What a cutie I have with me." Pete mused, not even trying to be quiet about it, and planted _another_ kiss on Patrick's head.

Patrick just needed to think of a way to get out of the situation, it was starting to get awkward for him.

"It's fucking hot today."

"Trust me on this, it's just me you're thinking of."

That was... charmingly stupid? The singer smiled, but focused moreso than before on his magazine. Pete only pulled Patrick closer, laying the shorter man's head on his stomach. He really wanted to go into full out cuddling, didn't he?

"Sing for me, Stumpy."

Without much thinking about it, Patrick started Smooth Criminal, because it was easy enough for a song where the lyrics didn't make much sense.

It was maybe a bit harder than it should have been, considering that Pete was basically petting him as if he was a dog or cat.

"What time is it?" Pete asked, sometime in the evening, quite suddenly out of some chatting.

"I dunno. Some time kinda late but not that late."

"It is pitch black outside."

"Midnight, partly cloudy. I'm tired."

"Then we'd better get to sleep, huh?"

"Yeah."


End file.
